


Your Savagery, Your Grace

by purplesocrates



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Death, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Ravage submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 20:02:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21282476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplesocrates/pseuds/purplesocrates
Summary: My submission for fannibal anthology Ravage.I dreamt I was a ferryman. Stoic and cold I waited.  I waited for something, anything to disturb the air, to reach inside and squeeze my heart to pump.I dreamt I was a ferryman with nothing to do but watch.  I filled my boat with gold coins that disappeared to the touch.  I waited for the sound of silence to be ripped apart by a scream, a siren cry to become, to be something else entirely.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11
Collections: RAVAGE - An Infernal Hannibal Anthology





	Your Savagery, Your Grace

__

Hannibal stands at the bow of the boat and waits. He is used to waiting. He is used to both patience and despair. Both cling to him now like a bad smell, a lingering gaseous smoke. The slight narrowing of his eyes is the only clue, if you could get that close to see, of the crack in his very carefully placed veneer of calm indifference it has taken lifetimes to perfect. He thinks back on the lifetimes he has consumed and the ones he has lived. Within him he contains both. 

He is not sure how long he has been waiting now. Some moments it feels like eons and others it feels like seconds. Time has become utterly meaningless. He wonders if he has a heartbeat still, if he ever had one at all. He has known terror. He is not sure even that made his heart beat any faster. He has known blood spilling in waves around him almost drowning, he has known trickles of blood, small drops creating small pools and rivulets. He has known all kinds of blood all kinds of ways. He knows the smell of it, the warmth of it as well as the cold. He has known the taste, thick and hot on his tongue, cold and dead on his skin. He has seen it frozen blue and boil red like molten lava. He knows blood. Yet he is not sure he remembers his own blood flowing, his own heart pumping it through his body as surely it did, as surely it does.

He remembers the air used to move more, it used to feel cold against his skin. Now his skin is cold to touch, his blood moves like a glacier through his body, slowly carving its way. He feels it in increments, etching and scraping its passage. It is more like a memory than reality, a faded thing that is threadbare and forgotten. The air now is undisturbed and heavy, it sits on his shoulders and weighs his bones down to the spot. He is rooted, contained within his own burden of circumstance. He is here on this boat with his quickly fading bounty of gold coins which seem to disappear into the air the moment they touch his palm. 

Alone and forgotten he waits. Eyes looking out onto a quickly fading horizon, it moves but he remains. The mist curls around him and colours everything he sees in grey. In his mind’s eye it all used to be red, the colour of blood, the colour of life, the colour of death. He remembers vaguely holding both in his hands, he could give life or take it away at the flip of a coin, a note of whimsy. A smile creeps across his face, it does not reach his eyes. 

__  
  


_ I dreamt I was a ferryman, I took souls to hell for the price of a gold coin.  _

_ I dreamt I was asleep in my task, alone and cold. Ice ran in my veins as I was surrounded by fire.  _

_ We had circled hell together you and I. We fought and slew a dragon, we tasted its blood mingled with our own. It made us one. We became perfect. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman. _

_ I dreamt you looked at me, you looked past my veil and into my eyes. Caverns of darkness. Voids of black. You saw a light I could never reach. You thought to snuff it out. _

_ We killed together you and I. We consumed the souls we took, we tasted bones and skin and sinews. They made us strong. They made us one. We became perfect. _

_ Betrayal followed us like a snake. It wove through the pattern of us, choking and squeezing and bursting.  _

_ I dreamt I was ferryman. I dreamt I fell asleep. _

_ I dreamt you had been the fire that consumed me.  _

__  
  
  


He hears the scream first. As if a memory has suddenly come alive and he wonders at his sanity. Then he feels it, he feels it as if it is the first thing he has ever felt in his life. The sound carries on the mist clear as a bell, ringing through between the molecules to reach his ears. He knows deep inside that he remembers the sound, it is a sound that starts to make him feel as if he may be alive after all. The blood he was not sure was in his veins seems to run a little hotter, he still cannot feel his heartbeat.

It is just one at first, a slow high-pitched wail that almost sounds like a song. He remembers the words, he remembers the melody. His smile starts to reach the corners of his eyes. He takes in a deep breath and starts to smell the air around him breathing it in for what feels like the first time. He can feel his lungs expanding, the cold air pushing against his organs. Opening his eyes, he lifts his head and looks out at the water. He watches as the mist slowly begins to clear. It is by increments this happens, a slow separating of the atoms. He becomes still once more as he waits. 

A sigh wracks his body. 

The air is once more still. There is no noise just the slow gentle slapping of the waves against his boat and even they calm after a while. The silence is thick and heavy, it drapes itself around him weighing on his shoulders, pressing down against his body. He feels it now. It feels as if it suffocates him once more. He is not sure but he thinks what he feels is boredom. Perhaps he has always felt it but never noticed it until this perfect moment of stillness. 

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman. Stoic and cold I waited. I waited for something, anything to disturb the air, to reach inside and squeeze my heart to pump. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman with nothing to do but watch. I filled my boat with gold coins that disappeared to the touch. I waited for the sound of silence to be ripped apart by a scream, a siren cry to become, to be something else entirely. _

_ I dreamt I was alone, completely and utterly. I was myself, I had happened, I was existing in my own divine land. I didn’t know I was waiting, I didn’t know I wasn’t alone. _

_ I dreamt you waited too, hiding from yourself, pretending you were not who you were meant to be. I dreamt I felt you before I could see you. _

_ I dreamt you walked over water to reach me, my arms outstretched and waiting. I dreamt I was a ferryman and you were my salvation. _

__  
  


Another scream echoes through the air as his eyes once again begin to focus. A name appears on his lips, like a whisper. It begins to take shape, a slow moulding together of shadow and memory. It is the first word he has spoken for many years. His voice is soft as it spills from his mouth. The name has a taste, metallic copper like blood, he takes a moment to feel the shape of it in the cavern of his mouth, it presses with a sharpness that almost makes him bleed. He can almost taste blood against his tongue.

He closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose. The scent is faint, barely there at all. The memory it evokes takes every last breath from his lungs. Grasping hands, a warmth against him, through him, the tightness of a sheering pain wracking his body, adrenaline causing his heart to beat. He remembers now that it did beat, once, in this moment. When they came together as one and blood was strewn across the surface of their skin, it soaked through their clothes, it spread across the floor seeping into the hard earth.

Then so much searing, aching, bone freezing cold. It was as if the very marrow had frozen solid. Losing all the warmth from his body, the blood running cold as he remembered it could from all those years before. The utter despair of loss. A cavernous feeling, the pit of despair. He had found something, something so rare, so precious and once again lost it to the waves of an ice cold sea. He remembers now, the moment it slipped from him, the weight lifted. How he had longed for that weight to come back, how he had wanted to sink into the depths with it. He remembers now diving for it, reaching out in the darkness of the blue for something, anything that might lead him back to what he had lost.

The name. He remembers screaming the name until his mouth was filled with salt water and his voice a hoarse whisper. He remembers letting himself sink, lower and lower, willing himself to hit the seabed and never return. He remembers…

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman who had drowned. I dreamt I had willed my body to follow yours to the depths. I dreamt I had wished you had dragged me there. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman weighed down by his own memories. Frozen solid by his loss. Immobilised by his need. _

_ I stood watch over a river of mist, it moved and parted but always hid what was underneath. Layers of it woven together, interlocked, thick with mystery. I wanted it to part, I wanted to pry it apart with my fingers. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman consumed by his grief. I dreamt I looked out onto a horizon I could not see to find you. I dreamt I was blinded by the mist. I dreamt of nothing but wanting to feel your presence and hear your voice. _

_ Your name was always on my lips. I dreamt I was a ferryman and the only name I could remember was yours. _

He looks at the water, his head slowly tilting down. The mist is the first thing he sees, it still covers most of the surface but he is patient, used to being patient by now. He feels it, the times in his other life, when he used to wait. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the murk. He can see just under the surface is movement, rippling and changing under the still membrane. He is focused in his task he knows if he waits long enough the mist will move and he will be able to see what lies beneath the surface. 

At first it is just shapes, indistinct shadows moving. Then he hears it again, one scream this time followed by many, they pierce through the silence shattering it. He does not move his gaze he keeps it fixed on the water as the mist finally begins to clear. The dark and blurred shapes stop and turn to look up at him. He sees their mouths wide open and screaming, he hears the despair, anger and shame wrapped up in each long wail. Their eyes are filled with dread and pain. Their skin is stretched over their faces, a thin membrane where the frozen blood scrapes through veins. They feel nothing but cold, burning pain. The smile reaches his eyes as he gazes down upon the chaos below him.

He can see now how they claw at each other, how they climb over each other, blood bursts from them and mixes with the water, salt leaches in and stings their blood cells. He can see now the water is red. His eyes are fixed on this beautiful painting of pain and chaos. The searing ecstasy he feels is almost overwhelming. He can hear the screams louder now, they echo around his mind, they are all he can hear, they vibrate through his skin. 

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman surrounded by pain. Screams came from the water, blood ran with tears around my boat. It smelled like despair. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman looking through the veil. I longed to see beneath me, I longed to feel the blood beneath my skin. I wanted to yearn again, I wanted to feel. _

_ The dead and dying, murdered and murderers swam beneath my boat. I felt them. I knew them. It made me miss you and the taste of blood on my lips. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman with blood on my hands and longing in my bones. _

_ _

His smile shows teeth now as he makes eye contact with those below him. Some would recognise him if they could, some know what he is, they can sense the monster and feel his presence. He watches them writhe and scream in agony with a detached curiosity. It has been so long since anything moved him, since anything found its way beneath the veneer of him. 

With that thought, the name once again finds its way inside him, rolling around on his tongue. He breathes it in, tasting it. He can almost hear it out loud now, above the screams beneath him, it makes him miss something, it makes him ache. He can see the shape of it in his mind’s eye, it holds vaulted ceilings, paintings and darkening skies. It holds his own name, now forgotten, intertwined within it. He remembers identical opposites, two parts of the same whole and he suddenly feels bereft and empty. The smile slips from his lips and he wishes for something he cannot seem to find. A shape of a man who used to share his mind, the shape of a man who felt too much and not enough. He remembers the feeling of this man against him and the feeling of loss.

He looks up from the water once more and out onto the misty horizon. He can see nothing but flat open still water and mist. There is no light here, at least not any a human eye can see. The darkness is all-consuming. He is a shadow against black, a shadow cast with no light. He should not be, he never should have been. 

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman of death. I carried death on my boat with ease, I was never weighed down by a soul. I dreamt that I was above it all, floating like a ghost above all the chaos utterly alone. _

_ I dreamt I was ferryman on water that was so still, it was as if it were made of glass. Underneath it the souls of the dead swam and tapped against the surface. The glass never cracked. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman with eyes that saw for miles, never seeing what they longed for. An image of a man who saw me, who knew me, who was my perfect opposite.  _

_ I dreamt I was ferryman who waited, waited for you forever, waited in my own personal hell. _

So entranced by the sight of the souls beneath him he does not immediately feel the weight on his shoulder heavier than the air around him. The feeling of it slowly reaches his mind like thick flowing molasses. His head, achingly slow, rises upwards and straightens, he then realises he can smell the change in the air around him. The slow burgeoning of his senses make him slightly more aware than before. He can smell the change as he feels the warmth on his shoulder of a hand gently grasping. 

The memory of that smell, that name, causes a moan to leave his lips. His eyes close as he feels a wave crash down on him, he remembers now. He remembers it all, he remembers his own name, his own rage, his own betrayal. It lights up his veins with fire and brimstone, melting that ice, calving the glacier within. The name of the man that woke him up all those years ago when he didn’t even know he was sleeping. The man whose hand gently grasps his shoulder, waking him from another slumber.

Will.

He opens his eyes taking in a deep breath for what seems like the first time in years, decades, maybe eons. He slowly turns around, his body aching and unused to moving, he moves like a statue. He remembers he used to have grace, perhaps he will again once he meets the eyes he now remembers, that storm blue that made his soul come alive. The darkness is still all consuming and heavy, from the outside his movement is barely perceptible as anything other than just shadow moving against darkness.

As he moves, the hand is removed from his shoulder and it drops to the side of the figure. He finds he misses it, longs for it to come back, though he can still feel the warmth and weight of it burning its way through the layers of his skin. Once he is facing the figure he can feel the smile of the man and then he hears it, his own name tumble from those lips.

Hannibal.

_ I dreamt I was ferryman waking up from a slumber, feeling my bones in increments. My blood heating up and slowly boiling as I felt your hand on my shoulder. _

_ I could feel you, smell you before I could see you. Just as you did before, you surrounded me, you invaded me, you possessed me. _

_ I had waited all my long lives for you and it seemed as if this life was no different. I dreamt I was a ferryman who wanted nothing more than to kneel at your feet, to kill at your side, to witness the stirring of our passion. _

_ I dreamt I was a ferryman who had remembered your betrayal last after my love for you. _

When he meets those eyes he can feel a tear falling like the first raindrop after a drought. It feels warm against his skin. He sees the smile on the mans face first, it’s almost just a reflection of a memory until it reaches his heart which, though slowly, has begun to thaw. He can see the lives he has lived outstretched before him, returning to his memory like a film. He watches himself happen, he watches lives taken from him, by him, for him. It is an overwhelming flood of emotion that threatens to consume him just as it did once before.

He realises the darkness is little less dark now, there is a slickness to it, a thickness that moves and undulates like the water against his boat. The screams are still there and they fill the air between them, they are a siren song to them. It is when his eyes finally meet the man’s eyes he remembers the colour blue, dark and stormy, almost black. He remembers falling, crashing, breaking apart and perhaps dying.

The memory of mutual betrayal wracks his body.

He remembers pushing, slicing, gushing, tears and blood. He remembers murder, he remembers punishment and pain. It courses through him and threatens to drown him once more. He can feel that need to again turn to stone, to hide away, to become still. He also remembers forgiveness uttered in a cave of skeletons beneath a temple of a god he did not hold. He remembers the darkness surrounding him, warming him, he remembers those words he never uttered himself.

In that moment he finds he can meet the man’s eyes, dark amber meeting dark blue, he can feel them connect, he can feel the tendril between them. The man slowly raises his arm again and grasps his shoulder, the warmth and weight now returning as the screams seem to get louder around them. Then the softest of touches, the softest of caresses and he breathes out a sigh that moves the mist. Suddenly there is silence. Suddenly he sees the fury in the man’s eyes and it makes him shiver.

__  
  


_ I dreamt I was a ferryman who shed a single tear that contained a flood at the sight of you. I dreamt I left my post to go with you, that I left all those tormented I watched over, I left the chaos and despair for you. _

_ I dreamt I was ferryman no more. I dreamt I was in hell, with you, for you and we fought together to be free. _

_ I dreamt you took my hand and led me from this place as easily as breathing. I dreamt of your savagery, your beauty, I dreamt of my own. _

__  
  


“Hannibal wake up.”

__  
  


Immediately he opens his eyes. He is awake, there is no pause from his brain; he is the predator, always on. His breathing is calm despite the pain he is in. He meets Will’s eyes which seem to be smiling back at him.  _ Still a predator _ , Hannibal thinks with a glint in his eye.

“You were dreaming.” Will still has his hand on Hannibal’s shoulder. Standing in front of him, he hands Hannibal a glass of cold water. He can see the condensation forming on the glass around Will’s fingers.

“Yes,” Hannibal responds, his voice rough with sleep. He takes the glass of water from Will and feels the coldness against his own fingertips, grounding him. He brings the glass up to his mouth and sips the water. The ice cubes touching his lips make him shiver. Will removes his hand from Hannibal’s shoulder as he takes the seat next to him on the porch. 

Silence settles between them as Hannibal empties the glass, and they both look out at the waves crashing into the beach in the distance. The air is warm and still, no breeze, the sun is setting heavy and hot in the sky, streaks of pink, red and orange burn up the day.

“Do you need anything?” Will’s voice is soft and it makes Hannibal unexpectedly sad. He wishes Will would not feel this pity towards him.

“No,” he responds, monotone and unsure.

Will sighs. “I do not think you are weak Hannibal. I would never make the mistake of thinking that. I just want to help you recover.” 

Hannibal turns to look at Will then, profile dimming in the darkening light. It should not surprise Hannibal how easily Will can read his thoughts and moods, yet it still does. He considers lying, but decides there would be no point so simply says, “Thank you.”

“Is there anything you need?” Will repeats.

“No. I have everything I could ever need.”

Will laughs at Hannibal’s sentimentality, still surprised by it. “Good.” A pause then. “What were you dreaming about?”

Hannibal moves as if to place his empty glass down on the floor, but Will reacts before he can and takes it from him, placing it down. “Thank you,” Hannibal acquiesces. His stitches are still healing and bending down can be painful. “I am not sure, I can only remember fragments.”

“Tell me about the fragments.”

“It is cold, misty I think, I am alone, I have been for a long time, it is dark, no light. I am watching and waiting. I have been waiting for a long time.” As Hannibal says these words the dream becomes less distinct, so he unfocuses his mind knowing that the more he holds onto it the more it will slip from him.

“What are you waiting for?”

Hannibal closes his eyes and lets the dream wash over him once more. He can feel the mist now as it swirls around him, he can hear screams in the distance, hear the water softly hitting his boat. He remembers the waiting, time becoming meaningless, his world in darkness, the loneliness, the bone-aching stillness. He remembers the hand on his shoulder, the weight of it, the feeling of finally being able to move, of feeling his blood pump in his chest.

“You.”

Will smiles at that. “I think we were always waiting for each other.”

Hannibal nods. “Yes, whether we realised it or not.”

“Teacups and time,” Will says wistfully.

Hannibal opens his eyes and looks out at the horizon as the sun begins to dip behind the sea. “Something like that.”

“Now that we have finally found each other, what are we going to do?” Will says this with an element of nervousness but Hannibal can see him now, can see the predator he always knew was there. Just as Will sees him now, he always did but he does not want to look away anymore.

“Once we are both healed.” Hannibal is still only up to partial strength but he can feel an entirely new power growing inside him, a night-blooming flower with petals as white as snow.

Will looks at Hannibal now, studying his face in the quickly fading light of day. The moon will be bright soon but until then it is hard to see in the half-light, shadows are everywhere. “Yes, when we are both healed.”

Hannibal can feel Will’s gaze on him and it gives him strength. “I see savagery, I see grace, I see blood in the water and hear screams in the air, they rise around us like smoke. The waiting, the watching, the patience - it is all finally over.” 

“Blood in the water,” Will repeats, his voice a little awed.

“Screams in the air.” Hannibal meets Will’s gaze as he turns to look at him.

“Our savagery, our grace.” Will smiles and Hannibal can feel it in his bones as the sun finally sets and the moonlight begins to dance on the surface of the water. 

“Our design.”

__  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos always appreciated x


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